Midnight Snack
Title: Midnight Snack
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 413
Author's Note: Written for softly_me's TVD hiatus ficathon. The prompt was 'But our love it was stronger by far than the love // Of those who were older than we // Of many far wiser than we'.
Elena remembers when a real romance was something out of a storybook - no, the idea didn’t seem ironic then. It seemed like the sort of thing you wait a lifetime for - a small town, a sad girl, the soulful eyes of a stranger.
She always thought it couldn’t be passionate with Matt because they were too close - because they’d grown up together.
But she and Damon grew up together, didn’t they?
He’s a hundred and something she’s never thought to ask, but she is sure he was born the night he lost everything, the night he was still and still standing, somehow, and she was suddenly so very tired, suddenly so half-mad with fear and anger and a strange echoed grief, and it seemed like the only thing she could do was walk over to him - steps she can’t remember taking - and wrap her arms around his body - a shape she never thought she could make.
She knows now: every soft word, every silly gentleness… she had been bringing Damon to life.
And now the things she didn’t know, are the things he has found out with her - from her, for her, because of her.
He jokes that he’s hot for teacher; she smiles and sighs and polishes an apple on her sleeve.
They talk about college - he’s never been - she is appalled - he can’t compel them to let him in - that’s cheating - he’ll take the test - she’ll know - How?
“Because you always tell me the truth.”
“Do I?”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
It started with toast and it ended with naked-on-the-kitchen-counter.
Elena grabs at his hips as he arches into her, breathes out mumbles of “Sleep” and “Work” and “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what a midnight snack is meant to be.”
He smiles, maybe, probably. He breathes in that he loves her - so much, so much, so much - and she thinks how maybe, probably, nothing about them was ever meant to be anyway.
It’s a funny thing to think about your own love story - We’re like a strange, spliced thing. We’re like a science experiment gone horribly who knows what.
Elena almost laughs, gasps, stifles it with a mouthful of hair and ear.
She closes her eyes and kisses his cheek.
She doesn’t know if this is wrong or right.
She just knows: there will never be a time when Damon’s hand in hers doesn’t terrify her.
There will never be a time when she doesn’t reach out.
Pairing: Damon/Elena
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 413
Author's Note: Written for softly_me's TVD hiatus ficathon. The prompt was 'But our love it was stronger by far than the love // Of those who were older than we // Of many far wiser than we'.
Elena remembers when a real romance was something out of a storybook - no, the idea didn’t seem ironic then. It seemed like the sort of thing you wait a lifetime for - a small town, a sad girl, the soulful eyes of a stranger.
She always thought it couldn’t be passionate with Matt because they were too close - because they’d grown up together.
But she and Damon grew up together, didn’t they?
He’s a hundred and something she’s never thought to ask, but she is sure he was born the night he lost everything, the night he was still and still standing, somehow, and she was suddenly so very tired, suddenly so half-mad with fear and anger and a strange echoed grief, and it seemed like the only thing she could do was walk over to him - steps she can’t remember taking - and wrap her arms around his body - a shape she never thought she could make.
She knows now: every soft word, every silly gentleness… she had been bringing Damon to life.
And now the things she didn’t know, are the things he has found out with her - from her, for her, because of her.
He jokes that he’s hot for teacher; she smiles and sighs and polishes an apple on her sleeve.
They talk about college - he’s never been - she is appalled - he can’t compel them to let him in - that’s cheating - he’ll take the test - she’ll know - How?
“Because you always tell me the truth.”
“Do I?”
“Do you?”
“I do.”
It started with toast and it ended with naked-on-the-kitchen-counter.
Elena grabs at his hips as he arches into her, breathes out mumbles of “Sleep” and “Work” and “I’m pretty sure this isn’t what a midnight snack is meant to be.”
He smiles, maybe, probably. He breathes in that he loves her - so much, so much, so much - and she thinks how maybe, probably, nothing about them was ever meant to be anyway.
It’s a funny thing to think about your own love story - We’re like a strange, spliced thing. We’re like a science experiment gone horribly who knows what.
Elena almost laughs, gasps, stifles it with a mouthful of hair and ear.
She closes her eyes and kisses his cheek.
She doesn’t know if this is wrong or right.
She just knows: there will never be a time when Damon’s hand in hers doesn’t terrify her.
There will never be a time when she doesn’t reach out.